


Wait Til The End

by gonfalonier



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Epistolary, Grief, M/M, Pining, complicated adult emotions, poor coping mechanisms, sex mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 13:53:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6081810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonfalonier/pseuds/gonfalonier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A letter written and sent in the spaces between one obligation and the next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wait Til The End

**Author's Note:**

> This is a response to a prompt by tumblr user singoallala: Hamilton/Laurens - things we said when we were the happiest we ever were.

To my Dear Friend.

John.

When Affection is left to flourish it will crest and recede in its phases until it becomes exhausting. A quick shot, that is what a man needs to become invigorated, and that is what you gave to me. You will please forgive the poetry or art here. I am drunk. I will start this afresh.

John.

I am tired, My Dr., but no one can know it and so I do not tell them. If my rivals knew they would descend from their crags and plummet through me like bullets. If my friends knew that I was capable of exhaustion they would lower their esteem. I do not have many friends, certainly none as Dear to my heart as yourself, not one who can warm me as you could with just the promise of a visit. I wish keenly you could come to see the house where we are all settled. And the way the Children have matured into handsome and active devils. I will not say I always like them. They make me tired and I cannot afford to be so. You would be quick to run about with them in the house, shaking the walls and glass cabinets and making Betsey tut tut for all of you to be still. She is as pretty as she has always been and nothing could put asunder the home that we have made with one another, not even my fevered weariness, for which she is a balm. I have loved her for a very long time in my own measure of it.

O, it was never tiresome with you. You did not give me the chance to dislike you. It took no convincing before I was full pink and ready to take myself a permanent place in your company. It did not matter at all whether we were encamped in a field of hell & ticks, nettles, thorns, &c. or in the home of an ally with stew and plus a good amount of _daughters_. We were to be gallant all the same, and, gallant to one another.

When I am able to steal a bit of peace, or close a door and sit unmolested, I choose to let my memory tread a path soft and nimble as a cat to some time I spent in your bright countenance. All of my recollections of you, Dear, even the biting hunger and the rank heat or if not that the dire chill, are suffused with the light of the sun as though they were all over the course of one long June. In the frost you were a candle and when the heat was unbearable and we were crawling in it you were the breeze that saved our, my, hope. There was one day, and it was in June, and you will remember, we were sheltering in a barn, ten of us all battered with rain. We were bedraggled and we smelled, wet animals, all trying to sleep the storm along in our own corners of hay. You joined me in mine. Do you remember? We hid shuddering behind a splendid mound of hay and you were at my back the way I always did prefer you. I am not a world traveler but I could send my thoughts to soar around the globe to the far places in all directions on ships traveling to islands uninhabited and, My Dear Laurens, I could not conceive of a place I would have preferred. You lent your voice to my ear and I could no longer hear the brutality of the rain, and what you said to me in that still moment will linger with me until I am old. I have never repeated it and nor has it ever again been expressed to me by another.

We were ardent, and, I was not quiet, and do you remember how the men applauded and whistled and the way you stood and took a bow. Gallant in indignity. The War is long long over and. I aspire to it still.

I will be sending this via discreet carrier down to you to be placed in your lush tender green arms until the rains from the coast beat it into disintegration against your stone and the sentiments herein seep down into the earth to where you are.

Yrs in all time

Adieu

A


End file.
